


Easier Done Than Said

by daydreamn019



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drinking, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, New Years, Pining, Some background relationships, inaccurate representation of parties, rvb secret santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamn019/pseuds/daydreamn019
Summary: A year ago, Tucker made a New Year's resolution to stop tip-toeing around Wash and finally confess to him. Turns out the universe is not a fan, though, and it's totally not Tucker's own fault that he still hasn't gotten around to doing it yet.But Tucker is a lover, not a quitter, and at this year's end-of-the-year party, he's making one final push to tell Wash his feelings before the clock strikes midnight. Too bad he can't anticipate what'll thwart him this time.
Relationships: Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Easier Done Than Said

**Author's Note:**

> here's my rvb secret santa gift in the form of dumb tuckington, for [@vxdkamxtini](https://vxdkamxtini.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> this is the first rvb fic i'm posting which is super exciting! i had lots of fun writing this, and i actually went over the max word count a lil bit so i decided to bring it down to exactly 7,000 words lol
> 
> i hope you enjoy, and happy holidays!

“I’m actually gonna do it this time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Church? Are you listening? I’m  _ actually _ gonna tell him.” 

“Tell him what?” Caboose interjects, poking his head out from the hallway. His voice lowers into a loud stage whisper. “Oh my god, Tucker, are you pregnant?”

Tucker sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Caboose. I’m talking about Wash.”

“Oh my god, Washington is pregnant?”

“Shut up,” Simmons hisses, glaring. He waves at the TV screen. “We’re getting to the best part!”

Grif snorts from his spot in the loveseat, next to him. “There is no best part, Simmons. This movie is fucking trash.”

Simmons sputters. “You—”

“Can we get back to my plan?” Tucker interrupts, impatient. He pokes Church again, who’s slumped over the arm of the couch, his glasses askew.

“Yes,” Caboose says solemnly, making his way towards them. Tucker moves over as Caboose squeezes in next to Church, grinning as Church groans and mutters something like  _ jackass _ under his breath. “We cannot deal with babies without a plan.” 

The room collectively decides to ignore Caboose’s comment. Grif scoffs. “You’re just going to chicken out again, man. No use talking about it.”

“I’m not!” Tucker protests, quickly sitting up. “I’ve never chickened out!”

“Right,” Grif says, bored. “And that’s why it’s been a year and you still haven’t done shit.”

“It hasn’t been a year yet,” Tucker protests weakly. “And I’ve made progress!”

“What progress?” Simmons snorts, settling against Grif’s side again. Tucker glares at him and almost bites out a  _ you wouldn’t know, _ but then he remembers that Simmons and Grif are dating now. Fuck. Even  _ those two _ beat Tucker to the goddamn punch. 

“Look,” he says instead. “I have one more chance with the New Year’s party. Wash literally asked me to go with him. So I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go and charm him with my hot looks and winning personality.”

Church finally lifts his head, leveling Tucker with an exasperated look. “What the fuck did I tell you about mentioning Wash?”

Tucker ignores him. “It’s like, coming full circle or some shit from last year. He’s going to love me, and we’re going to make out, and then—”

“I swear to fucking God,” Church says, “if you keep talking about wanting to get into my cousin’s pants, I’m going to kill you.” 

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re starting to sound like Grif when I talk about Kai—”

_ “Tucker!” _ Church and Grif snap in unison. Tucker holds his hands up and scooches away from them.

“Not my fault that the ladies love me!” he says. “And the dudes. And Wash.”

Caboose frowns. “That is not true. Carolina does not like you. Or South. Or Tex—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Church mutters, ducking back down to sleep against the arm of the couch. “I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“Can everyone shut the fuck up?” Simmons says, gesturing at the screen. “We’re almost at the saddest scene!”

Grif looks him, considering, then glances back at Tucker. “You know what? For once, Simmons is right—”

“For  _ once?” _

“You should shut up and just watch the movie. Since even  _ this _ bullshit is better than your love life.”

Ouch. Coming from  _ Grif. _ Tucker scowls. “Fuck you, man.”

“Ask Wash instead,” Grif retorts. “But you’re probably gonna freak out and bail. Again.”

“I’ve never—”

_ “Shh!” _ Simmons hisses, glaring. They both fall silent. Tucker huffs, leaning back against the couch. He needs better friends.

Besides, it's not even his fault. It’s fucking  _ Washington’s,  _ for being stupid and oblivious and hot and  _ confusing.  _ If it weren’t for him, Tucker wouldn’t have made that goddamn New Year’s resolution in the first place.

It’s Wash’s fault that Tucker went to the New Year’s Party last year, that he sulked in the corner drinking beer and complaining to Church about how  _ stupid _ and  _ hot  _ Wash was, that he woke up hungover the next morning with the thought at the forefront of his mind being how absolutely head-over-heels he was for Wash. And Tucker’s a lover, so naturally his first course of action was to make a New Year’s resolution: tell Wash about his feelings, and get a boyfriend. Easy, right? 

Except it’s nearly been a year, and...nothing. Wash has no idea, and Tucker still hasn’t told him. But it’s not his fault! He’s been thwarted by various situations, such as South challenging him to a drinking contest, food poisoning that landed him in the hospital, and a sprained ankle. So luck has clearly not been on his side, this year. 

But there’s one last chance—the New Year’s party for the end of 2019. And Tucker  _ has _ to do it then. He already has an outfit planned, and it won’t take too much to charm Wash because, y’know, Tucker is just naturally delightful. He’ll just profess his love, and Wash will totally dig it, and they’ll have a happily ever after. 

Tucker squares his shoulders and sends another glare to the back of Grif’s head. There’s some stupid romance scene on the TV that has Simmons’ rapt attention—Tucker doesn’t care, ‘cause he’s better than that. He’ll prove it.

He can do this. And it’ll be  _ great. _

  
  
  


One week later, on December 31st, Tucker stands in front of Maine’s huge mansion and thinks out loud to himself, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Church barely looks up. “Good. Then don’t.”

Tucker slows to a stop on the sidewalk and checks the time. It’s eight PM. Dread tightens in his gut. “What am I even going to do? What if I say something embarrassing?”

“Jesus Christ,” he hears Church mutter. 

“Fuck,” Tucker groans. “Grif is never going to fucking let me live it down if I don’t do it. But what if I fuck up? What if Wash hates me and I have to change my identity and die alone?”

“I hope he hates you, then,” Church snipes. “Now can we go inside before we freeze our asses out here?”

Tucker scowls, though he’s not quite sure why he expected any help. “Fucking die.” 

Church doesn’t respond, walking towards the front steps. Tucker has no choice but to follow.

Admittedly, it is better to be standing inside. The party has already been going on for some time, chatter filling the living room. Tucker takes off his jacket and immediately looks around for Wash. He turns to ask Church for help, only to see him already walking away.

“Dude,” Tucker says, indignant. “Where are you going?” 

“Away from you,” Church says without even looking back.

Tucker makes a noise of disbelief. He steps forward to grab him, opening his mouth to call him an asshole, but then he spots Tex from across the room. She makes eye contact with him and smirks, sharklike, her eyes flickering to Church.

Nah, fuck that. Tucker lets him disappear into the crowd, breaking eye contact and turning away from her. He values his balls, thank you very much. 

But it’s fine, because Tucker doesn’t need Church. He can do this by himself. He looks around again, but Wash is nowhere in sight. Maybe he’s not here yet. Grif and Simmons are chilling in the corner, and where Grif is at a party, there’s definitely beer. So Tucker heads in that direction first.

On the way, he passes by South, who grins at him wickedly and gestures at the drink she’s holding. Tucker pretends not to see her and walks faster. He doesn’t want to get alcohol poisoning again.

“Hey,” he says when he reaches Grif and Simmons. They’re sitting on the couch together, Grif taking up most of the space. There’s a pack of beer on the table. “Do you guys know where Wash is?”

“Why the fuck would I?” Simmons says, helpfully. “You’re the one who likes him.” 

Tucker scoffs and grabs a beer, taking a sip. “Don’t fucking say  _ like. _ You’re making me sound like a middle schooler with a crush.”

“Oh, you’re not?”

Tucker shoots him a glare, then glances down at his phone. There’s no new messages from Wash other than the  _ I’ll see you soon _ he sent two hours ago. 

“Should I text him?” Tucker asks. “Or would that be coming on too strong?”

“Oh my god,” Simmons says, incredulous. He nudges Grif. “Are you hearing this bullshit?”

“Don’t care,” Grif grumbles. “He’s gonna get cold feet anyway.”

“Oh—fuck you, dude.” Tucker frowns, his conviction renewed. He’s not gonna let  _ Grif _ be right. “I’m gonna tell him. Watch me.”

“I’m not a voyeur. That’s more of Simmons’ thing.”

Simmons sputters and turns an impressively bright shade of red. “Wh—what the fuck, Grif, no it’s not!”

Tucker glares at both of them. “I fucking hate you guys.”

Grif shrugs nonchalantly, a faint, smug grin curling on his lips. “I’m just stating facts, dude.”

Tucker rolls his eyes and chugs the rest of the beer. He tosses the empty can at Grif, who doesn’t even bat an eye as it bounces off his stomach.

“Fuck you,” he says, just to get the final word in. He grabs another can before he leaves. He doesn’t need them, anyway.

Tucker marches into the crowd, keeping an eye out for Wash as he drinks. He can’t get  _ too _ drunk before Wash got here, or it’ll just lead to a lot of embarrassment. 

He circles the room a few times, probably looking like an idiot. He even gets the balls to ask Carolina, who just glances at him with a weird mixture of amusement and exasperation before shooing him away. No sign of Wash for the whole ten minutes he spends looking. Great.

He’s about to give up and type out a message to Wash when he hears someone say from behind him, “Hey.”

Tucker whirls around, startled, half-prepared to run away at a moment's notice. Then he sees it’s York who spoke. It doesn’t alleviate his concern.

“Tucker, right?” York says. He’s one of Wash’s more laidback friends, but considering most of them are bodyguards or ex-soldiers, it’s not saying much. Also, he’s dating Carolina, and that takes some  _ serious _ balls. 

“Yeah,” Tucker says slowly, looking for escape routes. York grins.

“Looking for Wash?” There’s a teasing tone in York’s voice, but Tucker ignores it, ‘cause York can’t know, right? Tucker has only told his friends about having feelings for Wash, though he’s not sure if they’ve gone snitching. 

“Nah,” Tucker lies. “Just trying to find Church.”

York raises an eyebrow. “I think I saw him talking to Tex. You want me to steer you in that direction?”

“No thank you,” Tucker says quickly, resisting the instinctual urge to cover his balls. He tries to keep his voice casual. “But, uh... _ have _ you seen Wash?”

York’s grin widens. He reaches over and pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Tucker. He’ll show up soon.”

“Um,” Tucker says. York looks entirely too entertained to have no ulterior motive. Tucker turns away and takes a sip of beer, looking for an excuse to leave without pissing him off. 

“You know,” York continues, “he talks a lot about you.”

Tucker perks up a little but doesn’t turn back to face him, trying to seem uninterested. “He does?” 

“Yeah.” York sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Nothing too embarrassing, don’t worry. He just likes to complain. And there’s some flattering stuff, too.”

“Like what?” Tucker blurts out before he can stop himself. He feels his cheeks burn. 

York throws him an amused glance. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

There’s plenty of things Tucker could say. Like,  _ Of course, I’m the hot one, everyone says flattering stuff about me  _ or,  _ I’m just fishing for compliments, you know how it is. _ But he just stays silent, trying not to blush, which is its own revelation.

“You know,” York says as Tucker wonders if he can sink into the floorboards of Maine’s living room and disappear. “You’re pretty obvious, Tucker. Even without your friend Caboose talking loud enough to be heard from five miles away.” 

Tucker’s heart drops.

Well, shit. 

He’s going to kill Caboose, if he doesn’t die from embarrassment before then. He pointedly takes a long drink of beer. York laughs.

“Hey, it’s chill,” York assures him. “I’m not gonna go dad-with-a-shotgun on you. Wash is more than capable of breaking your legs himself if you mess with him. ‘Sides, he’d have to actually  _ know. _ He’s still oblivious.”

Tucker would feel relieved if there weren’t seventy other concerns crowding his brain. “Uh.”

“A word of advice, from one ladies’ man to another—er, man’s man?” York squeezes his shoulder. “Just get it done quick. Don’t be too wordy. You never know how it’ll turn out, so just go for it. Plus, sometimes actions speak louder than words.”

“I’ve been trying,” Tucker mutters under his breath, feeling like fifty bombshells have been dropped on him at once.

“Try harder,” York says dismissively, like Tucker hasn’t actively been doing that for the past year. “Tell him upfront. Little hints never work with Wash, he’s dense as hell.”

Tucker snorts. “I know.” 

“Right? It’s annoying. I’m rooting for you, man.” York sighs, overdramatic. “This kind of young love...reminds me of the good old days when I was courting Carolina.”

Tucker wonders what Carolina sees in York. He’d fit right in with Tucker’s friends, to be honest. “Please never say those words in that order ever again.”

York chuckles. “You’d be surprised what pick-up lines worked on her. Don’t tell her I told you, though. She has a reputation to maintain.”

Tucker blinks. Pick-up lines? On  _ Carolina? _ Now that shit is too hilarious to be true. Tucker opens his mouth to prod some more, but doesn’t get the chance.

“Right.” York claps Tucker on the back, so hard he almost falls forward. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Good talk, man. Keep up the good work and get Wash laid. I’ll see you around.”

With that, York walks away, whistling. Tucker watches him go, standing with what’s probably the world’s most stupid-looking expression on his face. 

What an enlightening conversation. Tucker kind of wants to die. 

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, glancing at the entrance, then back at his phone. Maybe he should just suck it up and text Wash, like a loser.

Just in case, he walks back to the foyer to check. Some people that Tucker vaguely recognizes give him weird looks as he passes by for the umpteeneth time. He ignores them and scans his surroundings.

His eyes fall on the fireplace. Nearby, he catches a glimpse of blond hair.

Wash is standing against the wall, his back facing Tucker. He’s talking to Caboose.

York’s words flood back to his mind.  _ Shit.  _ If Caboose ruins his goddamn plan and embarrasses him, Tucker is going to kill him. He picks up the pace, weaving his way through the room.

“Caboose!” Tucker calls out, almost elbowing someone in an attempt to get there faster. Caboose looks up, confusion on his face until he spots him. 

“Hi, Tucker!” Caboose says cheerily, waving. Wash turns around, and Tucker can’t read his expression.  _ God,  _ Caboose better not have ruined his entire fucking plan.

“What are you doing, Caboose?” Tucker asks, trying to act casual. Wash is staring at him but not running away in disgust, so it  _ should _ be fine. 

Caboose beams at him. “I was just talking to Mr. Washington about how great of a birthday party this is!”

Right, sure. Tucker sighs, ignoring the weird look Wash is still giving him. “Just...go away, Caboose. Church said he wanted to talk to you.” 

Caboose brightens immediately, his head swiveling back and forth as he looks around “He did? Where is he?”

Tucker points in the general direction of  _ very far away from here.  _ Caboose cheers and bounds off, disappearing into the crowd. That’s one thing taken care of. Tucker turns to Wash and tries not to feel nervous, because that would be  _ dumb,  _ and Tucker’s not a teenager with a crush. Then he does a double-take. 

“Why the fuck are you wearing that?” Tucker blurts out, because he’s not a boring-ass bitch who starts off with normal greetings. 

Wash’s sweater features a cat wearing a Santa hat, with almost enough sparkles to put Donut to shame. It’s the most ridiculous thing Tucker has seen today, and  _ Wash _ is wearing it. There goes Tucker’s fantasies about Wash in hot ripped jeans and a tight-fitted shirt. Tucker himself is wearing something like that, and he feels awkwardly overdressed, like a tryhard. 

“Dude,” Tucker continues, because he’s already headed down this road. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear something like that outside of your apartment. Or ever, really...”

He trails off. Wash is still staring at him, open-mouthed. Tucker isn’t sure whether he should preen from the attention or feel self-conscious.

“What?” Tucker prods, praying that Caboose didn’t say anything embarrassing. “Do I have something on my face?”

Wash finally moves, shaking his head. “Nothing. It’s good to see you, Tucker.”

He doesn’t seem too awkward, at least, so Tucker breathes out a small sigh of relief. “Of course it is, I’m a fucking delight.”

Wash snorts. “I’m not going to even dignify that with a response.” 

“Fuck you, dude,” Tucker says, but he can’t stop himself from grinning. “Seriously, though, where’d you even get that sweater from?”

Wash blinks, looking down. “Right. Connie bought it for me last year. She threatened to sic Maine on me if I didn’t wear it today.” He glances back at Tucker and smiles, faint. Tucker’s stomach turns into cliche butterflies. “I spent twenty minutes arguing with her before coming here. Sorry for making you wait.”

Tucker tries not to break composure. He can never tell if Wash is flirting with him—probably  _ not, _ because he’s so oblivious, but it’s very confusing. “It’s chill, dude. But Church is going to laugh at you.”

“As he does,” Wash says mildly. “He wouldn’t be the first, today. Pretty sure Connie’s taking plenty of pictures for later.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’re not also jumping at the opportunity.”

Oh, Tucker really does want to. But he has a plan, so that’ll have to take a backseat for now. “Eh, there’s always time for that later. Did you grab a drink yet?”

Wash shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.” He glances at him. “You’re not gonna challenge South to a drinking contest again, are you?”

Tucker glares, offended. “Dude, that only happened once!” 

Wash chuckles. “And she still talks about it. I think she makes you sound more ridiculous each time.”

Yeah, that seems about right. Tucker’s pretty sure the whole fiasco set back his have-Wash-fall-in-love-with-me plan by five steps at least. “Fuck.”

“It wasn’t fun bringing you back to your apartment, though,” Wash continues. “I had to drag you up three flights of stairs.”

Tucker scoffs. “You’re buff as hell, you were fine. But you didn’t even buy me dinner before bringing me home, dude. We skipped a couple of steps.”

He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth—too much, maybe? But Wash just snorts lightly. Tucker can’t tell if he’s blushing or not. “You demanded I cook breakfast for you the next morning. I’m sure that counts.”

“Nah, dinner’s dinner,” Tucker insists. He was  _ very  _ obvious that time, and Wash still didn’t get the hint. “There are separate rules.”

“Right.” Wash doesn’t sound convinced. “Do you want to go to the basement? It’s less crowded.”

“Sure,” Tucker says. He’s never been to Maine’s house before, so he lets Wash take the lead (bow-chicka-bow-wow) as they walk through the crowd. The hallways are long and confusing, and Tucker really should pay attention to where they’re going, but he’s a little too distracted by Wash’s arms. 

When they arrive at the basement, Tucker spots his friends from across the room, who’ve already commandeered a pool table. Grif is animatedly arguing with Simmons about something. Even Caboose is there before them, chattering with Donut and Church.

“Hey, jackass,” Tucker greets, taking a seat on a nearby stool. “What happened with Tex?”

Church just shrugs, but he seems to be in a better mood than before. He even hands Tucker a can of beer, though Tucker goes to grab another one for Wash. Y’know, like a gentleman. 

“Thanks,” Wash says, smiling. Grif glances over at them, surprise flitting on his face. Tucker musters his best shit-eating grin, leaning close to Wash so that their arms brush. Grif gives him a middle finger in response.

“Love your sweater, Wash!” Donut chirps. He’s wearing a pink Christmas sweater himself, which doesn’t even make sense, that’s not even a Christmas color, but...whatever, it’s Donut.

“Thanks,” Wash says drily as Church snickers. Tucker elbows him, feeling obligated to defend Wash, and Church shoves him back. “What are we playing?”

“Uno,” Grif says, reaching for the cards on the table. Tucker scoffs.

“Dude, aren’t you sick of that game? It’s all we ever play at these parties.”

Grif rolls his eyes. “You’re just scared I’m going to beat you again, wimp.”

Church snorts, and Tucker scowls at him. It’s not like  _ he’s _ any better at the game. 

“Tucker has a point,” Wash speaks up, and Tucker blinks, trying not to puff up with pride. Grif looks at them and rolls his eyes harder.

“Of course,” he mumbles under his breath before saying, “Don’t care. We’re playing. Right, Caboose?”

“Yeah!” Caboose cheers. He blinks. “Wait, what are we talking about?”

Grif nods, satisfied. “If you need to take a card, you drink. We’ll make shit more interesting later.” He hands the cards to Simmons. “You deal. It’s too much effort.”

“Everything is too much effort for you,” Simmons says snidely, but he does so anyway. Wash frowns at his cards. He’s annoyingly good at Uno. And fucking  _ ruthless _ about it. 

Tucker is the first one to drink. Great. Wash grins at him, challenging and hot, and okay, Tucker is kinda fucked. Hopefully in the good way, later.

Simmons loses the first round and argues about it with Grif for ten minutes. Then they keep playing, and Tucker loses a surprisingly few amount of times, by his standards. Maybe because he keeps peeking at Wash’s cards.

An hour in, their pool table gets stolen by Tex and her friends for actual pool, and none of them are dumb enough to argue with her. They relocate to the beanbags in the corner and keep going. Tucker ends up sharing one with Wash, and—he doesn’t get that drunk, actually, but tipsy enough to rest his head on his shoulder, to minimize the distance between them. Wash doesn’t push him away, which is a good sign.

Uno becomes Never Have I Ever, eventually, and then a weird combo with Chinese poker that Tucker barely understands. Grif gets very drunk. They exempt Caboose from drinking punishments after he loses for the seventh time, since no one wants a repeat of what happened at that party two years ago. Tucker wins a bunch and celebrates and feels warmth kindle in his chest from Wash’s soft laugh. 

“I’m gonna go catch up with Niner,” Wash says at some point, hours later. He gently nudges Tucker off of his shoulder, and Tucker sways a little, frowning, but he can’t come up with a response before Wash is climbing to his feet and walking away.

Tucker almost wants to follow him, but then Donut begins insisting that he won, which he obviously  _ didn’t,  _ and Tucker gets distracted. Eventually they just let him win the round and keep playing. Tucker wins a couple times and drinks a few more. Caboose accidentally spills beer on Church’s pants. It’s great.

He loses track of time. The basement steadily fills with more people. They run out of beer and have to grab a new pack. 

Who knows how much time later, they stop playing. Somehow nine of the cards have gone missing. Tucker leans back in the beanbag, Mariah Carey’s songs on in the background, and finally glances at the clock. 

It’s eleven-forty. Wash has been gone for a really long time.

Tucker immediately scrambles to his feet, or at least tries to. He trips over Grif’s foot and nearly smacks his head against the table, swaying as he regains his balance. He looks around. Niner and North are talking on the other side of the room, but Wash nowhere in sight. 

“Did you guys see Wash?” Tucker asks. No one answers him. Grif seems to be asleep, leaning against a drunk and spaced-out Simmons. Caboose is still chattering happily with Donut, who’s listening along with the patience of a saint. Church is just plain ignoring him.

Shit. Tucker can’t run out of time. He needs to find Wash and do it as soon as possible, no more procrastinating. He is  _ not _ going to chicken out. 

“I’m gonna go find him,” Tucker announces. He waits for a response. Still nothing. Frowning, he begins to walk towards the direction he saw Wash going, heading up the stairs.

The hallways are empty, and also super fucking long. Tucker should’ve paid attention when Wash led him to the basement. He starts wandering towards where he thinks the living room is. 

It takes a while before he arrives. There’s still a lot of people, but Wash is nowhere in sight. Tucker has to ask five people to even get a direction, which is  _ embarrassing,  _ but soon he’s headed down another corridor. Great. Why does Maine have to have such a big house?

Finally, after what feels like years of walking in circles, Tucker hears Wash’s voice down the hall. An embarrassing amount of relief shoots through him, and he quickens his pace. 

“Wash?” he blurts out as he approaches, turning the corner. Wash is standing there with Carolina. They both turn to stare at him. “Uh...hi, Carolina?”

Carolina smiles. It’s terrifying. “Hey, Tucker.” Her voice is rather amused. Wash looks a bit awkward, for some reason. “How are you?”

“I’m good...?” Tucker glances at Wash for help. Carolina usually lets her hair down at parties, literally and figuratively, but Tucker’s still scared of getting his ass kicked. 

Wash is looking at Carolina, and they’re doing the weird eye contact telepathy thing that she always does with Church. Wash narrows his eyes, shaking his head.

Carolina just smiles wider, eerily reminiscent of York. She pats Wash on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later?”

“Carolina—”

She winks at them, which is almost scarier than her glare, and saunters towards the living room, leaving the two of them alone.

“What was that about?” Tucker asks after some silence.

“Nothing,” Wash says quickly, sounding embarrassed. Tucker squints at him.

“You’re acting weird, dude. How much did you drink?”

_ “You’re  _ asking me that?” Wash says, disbelieving. “I didn’t drink that much. What about you?”

“Me neither.” Tucker isn’t even lying. Compared to how he usually is at parties, he actually made an effort not to get too drunk. “Just...noticed you were gone for a while. So I came to find you.”

“Oh.” Wash blinks. “I got distracted after talking to Niner. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tucker says. He glances at the clock. Shit, five minutes left. “You’re here now.”

Wash’s cheeks turn pink. Tucker celebrates the small victory. “I...yeah. I guess so.”

“The game’s long over, man,” Tucker continues. “Pretty sure half of the guys are passed out. Maybe it’s better that you missed all of that.”

Wash laughs softly. “I dunno. It’s pretty entertaining to watch you whine about losing.”

Tucker scowls and hits him lightly. They lapse into a few beats of silence, more comfortable than anything. 

“Do you want to go to the living room?” Tucker asks. “For the countdown?” 

Thankfully, Wash shakes his head. “If you do, sure. But I’m okay with just being here with you, too.”

Now Tucker’s blushing. Great. And he also  _ really _ should’ve rehearsed how he’s going to confess, because he has no idea what to say, or how to start. York had said to just get it done quick. “Uh. great. That’s...good.”

“Also, I’m pretty sure North and York are out to get me,” Wash says, sounding a little embarrassed. “So. I think it’s better if I stay here.”

“Why?” Tucker asks.

Wash glances away, sheepish. “Uh...nothing. Just a little bet they have.” 

Tucker wants to ask further, ‘cause Wash is  _ definitely  _ acting weird, but another silence falls over them. His mind races. Okay. He should just make it simple, right?  _ I’m hot, you’re hot, let’s date.  _ Or maybe something more meaningful?  _ I realized I had feelings for you a year ago, and this is long overdue, blah blah blah.  _ Nah, that doesn’t seem like his type of thing. Maybe he’ll stick with the first option. 

He glances at Wash from the corner of his eye, not quite able to turn to face him, and takes a deep breath. His heart is beating in his chest so loudly that it rings his ears, deafening, and nearly drowns out what Wash opens his mouth and says first:

“Tucker, I like you.”

The world trips and stutters into a halt. Tucker almost feels his heart stop.

Wash exhales, shaky. “I...I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. I like you. A  _ lot. _ More than just a friend.”

Tucker doesn’t respond. He’s pretty sure his brain has shut down. He sees Wash glance at him before quickly averting his gaze. After another moment, he continues.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. It’s just…” Wash laughs, a soft, self-deprecating huff. “You’ve always been such an open person. Laid-back, too. And I couldn’t understand it. I physically couldn’t open myself up like that. But eventually you made me want to try.”

Oh, fuck. This is actually happening. Tucker’s pretty sure that his mouth is still agape and he looks like a bumbling fool, but he physically can’t move a muscle. 

“And it took some time. I’ve never really allowed myself to have good things. But I...realized that I liked you, and it was easy to be myself around you. I just...wanted to let you know. That I never felt as seen as I did when I was with you.” 

Wash stops. Tucker still can’t breathe, or move, or do anything. At least his heart seems to be working, because it’s beating so quickly that he’s pretty sure he’s gonna have a heart attack soon.

“Tucker?” Wash says, uncertain. Tucker is saved from responding when the cheers from the living room get louder, audible through the walls. He finally moves his head a little to look at the clock.

Five seconds before midnight. 

Oh, fuckberries.

Three

Two.

One. 

_ “Happy New Year!” _

The hollers from the living room are barely muffled, jarring and loud enough to fill the silence. There’s a crash, and a yell of  _ “Goddamnit, Caboose!” _ that’s nearly drowned out by the cheering.

Tucker blinks and realizes Wash is looking at him. His gaze is nervous but firm, and his  _ stupid _ teeth is biting his  _ stupid _ lip on his  _ stupid  _ face. 

It’s the new year, Tucker realizes, like a genius. It’s the new year, and he didn’t get to confess.  _ Wash _ did.

So, like a  _ genius, _ Tucker makes sure his first words of 2020 are meaningful, civil, and intelligent:

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Wash recoils, eyes flashing with hurt, but the words are already tumbling out of Tucker’s mouth before he can swallow them back. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” 

Wash stares at him, disbelieving. “Do—what? Why do you  _ think?” _

Jokes on him, Tucker’s brain still isn’t functioning. “You didn’t have to! Why couldn’t—ugh.” He scowls. “Why couldn’t you have fucking  _ waited?” _

“Tucker—”

“You shouldn’t have fucking said that!” Tucker snaps.

Silence. The living room has quieted down at least a little bit, voices barely heard through the walls. Tucker still doesn’t turn to face Wash, heart pounding in his chest. 

“You know,” Wash says after a moment, his voice cold, “you could’ve just said no like a normal person.”

Shit. Tucker’s brain finally clears, a little bit, and okay—overreaction,  _ severe _ overreaction, he didn’t mean to say that shit like that. Jesus Christ, Wash fucking  _ has feelings  _ for him, and Tucker probably just shattered them all like a dumbass. What’s wrong with him? 

“I—” Tucker tries to find something salvageable to say. “You weren’t supposed to—”

Okay,  _ bad _ idea. Wash stiffens and turns away. Tucker  _ really  _ needs to work on his panic control and brain-to-mouth filter. 

“Just stop talking, Tucker,” Wash says, more weary than anything. “I think I get it now.”

It takes Tucker a moment to realize that Wash is leaving. He’s  _ leaving, _ walking away from him in an unsteady gait, shoulders curled inwards defensively,  _ fuck, _ and Tucker needs to fix this. He needs to clear shit up right fucking now. 

He lurches forward, impulsively, and closes his hand around Wash’s wrist.

Wash whirls around and jerks away from Tucker’s touch like it burns.  _ “What?”  _ His voice dips, sharpened with hurt and bitterness. Tucker is kinda surprised that he doesn’t bite his head off.

_ Oh, fuck this,  _ Tucker thinks to himself, desperate, stepping forward and crashes his lips into Wash’s.

He miscalculates, though, pushing forward with a bit too much force and stumbling right into him. But Wash catches him, solid, and it’s not the most romantic thing in the world because Tucker feels their teeth clack together and he nearly headbutts Wash in the face, but it’s a dizzying mess and  _ fuck _ has Tucker wanted this for so long.

Wash doesn’t push him away. He freezes for a second that seems like hours before slowly melting into him. He has a hand splayed on Tucker’s chest and the other steady on his hip, and he doesn’t even stop when Tucker deepens the kiss. He falls into it as much as Tucker does, and it seems like an eternity passes, their bodies pressed together in the dim corridor, lips locked and Tucker’s heart racing in his chest.

It’s an eternity and then some when Wash finally leans away, taking a few steps back. Tucker stumbles back, too, and his head is still fuzzy and giddy but— _ focus.  _ On Wash, and not just how good of a kisser he is.

“Tucker,” Wash says, covering his reddened lips. His cheeks are pink, his eyes wide with a little remnant of hurt. “What…”

“I’m not that drunk,” Tucker says quickly, guilt still taunt in his chest. “I know what I’m doing. I meant it. I...didn’t mean to _ say _ that.”

Wash’s brow furrows. He straightens a little, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, and crosses his arms. It’s unfair how good he looks, even with his dumb Christmas sweater. “Explain.”

Okay, that’s much more difficult. Tucker scrounges for words that won’t make him look like a total idiot. “I...last year. I made a New Years’ resolution. And I’ve been trying to do it all year, and today was my last chance.”

“What does that have to do with…” Wash trails off. He stares. Tucker feels heat rise to his cheeks.

“Hey,” Tucker says defensively. “I know it’s dumb, okay! And, like,  _ super _ fucking cheesy. But I’ve been trying literally  _ all _ year. You have no idea how much effort it took! Grif has laughed at me so many times, and I’ve been  _ suffering. _ You haven’t been making it easy, either!”

“I…” Wash still looks confused and a little upset. “What do you mean?”

Oh, Christ. Does he still not get it? Tucker huffs, frustrated. “My resolution was to confess to you, asshole! And then  _ you _ do it first? Right before midnight? Seriously, man?”

Wash blinks at him, shocked. The silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time. Shit, did Tucker go too overboard again? Did he break him? Does he have to be worried about getting his ass kicked? 

“Tucker?” Wash says after a long moment, so suddenly that it makes him jump. 

Tucker swallows. “...yeah?”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

He feels the words like a slap. “What? How—?”

Wash stares at him. Tucker deflates, guilty.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he admits. He tentatively continues, “I’m sorry. I...like you. I really want to date you. I just thought you had no idea. York said you were oblivious.”

“York said—? Oh, Christ.” Wash heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t listen to him, ever. I knew I liked you. I just didn’t know if you returned my...feelings.”

Tucker snorts softly. “I’ve been pretty obvious, dude. So I’d still say you’re dense.” 

Wash flushes. “I’m  _ not.”  _

It’s Tucker’s turn to stare. Wash looks away, his ears turning red. 

“Fine,” he sighs. “And...I guess I can forgive you. I did I steal your thunder, after all.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tucker shoots back, but it lacks bite. He exhales slowly. “But...yeah. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not the first time you’ve been a jackass.” Wash’s voice is light, though, and he looks relieved. Tucker feels some weight lift from his chest. “Besides...even Carolina was asking about us. So this is a long time coming.”

“She was?” Tucker blinks. “Is that why she was being all smiley earlier? Christ, that was  _ terrifying.” _

Wash snorts. “I think York’s had a bad influence on her.”

“No kidding.” Their conversation lulls, slow, and Tucker feels his heartbeat quicken. He musters up some courage and dares to ask, hopeful, “So...are we good?

Wash blinks, surprised. Then his lips twitch into a smile, his shoulders relaxing. The way he glances at Tucker makes warmth curl in his gut. It’s definitely something he welcomes.

“Yeah,” Wash says softly, just as hopeful. “We’re good.”

And Tucker’s really, really glad that they are. 

  
  
  


It’s cold as balls when the two of them leave the party behind, half an hour later, and Tucker immediately shivers as the wind hits his skin. He’s pretty sure he left his jacket somewhere in the foyer of Maine’s house—it’ll be a lost cause to try and find it later. 

He uses it as an excuse to press against Wash’s side as they walk down the sidewalk. The little bit of warmth is almost enough to stave off the hypothermia Tucker’s feels like he’s gonna get. Still, worth it.

“Should we go back to my apartment or yours?” Wash asks. Tucker wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Or, I could leave you on the street and call an Uber home just for me.”

“Wait, no,” Tucker protests. Wash just gives him a faint grin in response. “Fuck you, dude.” Tucker thinks for a moment. “Uh, your place, probably? Just in case Tex breaks up with Church again and he goes back to our apartment to mope.”

Wash huffs. “That does seem to happen a lot. I guess I’m lucky to live alone.”

They stop at a corner, under a street light. Wash pulls out his phone and then glances at Tucker, eyebrows furrowing.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, concerned. Before Tucker can even respond, Wash shrugs off his jacket. “Here. You wear it.”

Tucker blinks, shaking his head. “What? Dude, what about you?”

Wash sighs. “Tucker, you’re wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt. I have a sweater. Put the jacket on. I’ll call an Uber.”

Tucker obeys, because he’s pretty sure a frostbitten dick would kill the mood. Then he glances back at Wash, who looks ridiculous with his Christmas sweater, and honestly it shouldn’t make Tucker want to make out with him for hours, but—it’s  _ Wash. _ He’s hot in everything.

“It’ll be here in ten minutes.” Wash pockets his phone and glances over, meeting Tucker’s stare. Fuck. Tucker looks away and tries not to blush. He’s supposed to be the suave motherfucker.

“I’m still mad at you,” he says, because he’s been having a real streak of saying idiotic things. “I can’t believe you did it literally  _ right _ before I was going to.”

Wash blinks at him. Then his lips curl up into something like a smirk. “Uh-huh.”

“I was  _ this _ close to proving Grif wrong, man!” Tucker exclaims. “Why’d you upstage me like that, I hate—”

Wash leans over and kisses him.

Tucker’s brain short-circuits for the second time of the night. Wash’s hand comes up to curl around the nape of his neck, soft and painstakingly sweet, a contrast to their first kiss. It only lasts a few seconds, but it’s enough to shut him up. 

“...you,” Tucker finishes lamely when Wash moves away, feeling his cheeks flush. Wash studies him, a smug smile on his lips, and Tucker can literally fucking  _ melt. _ Goddamnit.

“Right,” Wash says. When did  _ he _ get so confident? “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled when they find out how this went down.”

Tucker blinks, his brain still a little fuzzy. Then what Wash said registers. “Hey! Are you blackmailing me?” Wash just looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “You can’t tell them! They’re going to laugh at me!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Wash says, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh himself. 

“Blackmailing the boyfriend you’ve had for an hour? That’s cold, dude,” Tucker huffs. The word boyfriend still feels weird on his tongue, but given how Wash blushes, it’s definitely something he could get used to. 

Wash reaches for his pocket. “So I’ll just tell them, then?”

“No!” Tucker flails, grabbing Wash’s hand. They both freeze, for an awkward moment, before Wash slowly tangles their fingers together in a more comfortable position, letting their hands fall between them.

Tucker feels a brighter blush creep up his face. He turns away, scoffing, and definitely doesn’t huddle closer to Wash’s side. Nope, not at all. 

Fucking hell. His friends are  _ never _ going to let him live it down.

But right now, standing under the street light in the early hours of the new year, wearing Wash’s jacket and holding his hand...Tucker finds that he’s glad it turned out like this, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> for wash's confession i def took inspiration from the good place in the scene where tahani, talking about eleanor, says "I never felt quite so seen as when she saw me" :,)
> 
> i'm @daydreamno019 on tumblr if you want to follow me. once again, happy holidays, and happy (almost) 2020!


End file.
